Love Struck

by Laurelin McGee

  “That means you’re getting married.” Lacy couriered a bite to her lips, which burned, even as the inside turned to cold mush in her mouth. Dammit. There are no shortcuts. Back to the microwave.

  “I know.”

  Really, sometimes Andy was such a dunce. “So, when the portentous event occurs, and you’re living together, what are you going to do then if you want to pick up a book?”

  “I know, I know. But somehow when you’re living together, it doesn’t seem weird to be in the same space but doing different things. Now, when I go over there, it’s like there’s some invisible pressure that I feel to do what he’s doing. I mean, it’s not like he picks all the things, but you know what I mean. We watch movies, or play pinball, or walk Puppy. It seems not cool to show up at his house, and then be like, ‘Oh hey, I’ll just be over here while you do that.’”

  Lacy rolled her eyes at her sister from the kitchen, where she was once again staring down the small carton on its revolving trip. “Okay. I guess I get what you’re saying. But it’s still weird.”

  “I’ve always been weird, Lace. Get used to it.”

  “True that,” Lacy muttered under her breath. Though, maybe Andy did have a point. Lacy and Lance had lived together during their engagement, while Andy was still living with her. Perhaps that made it different. Or maybe just relationships were different in general.

  She wondered what she’d be like with Folx. Would she feel obligated to do what he was doing just because they were in the same room?

  And what a stupid thing to be wondering because she and Folx had never been in the same room together, and at this rate, they never would be. The truth of that hit Lacy like bad crab Rangoon—she would never be in a room with Folx. Never see him in person. Never know if the feelings that she was currently nursing could grow into anything more.

  Lots of “nevers” with no hope of becoming “somedays.”

  Not unless one of them got the balls to move their online relationship forward. And if she was waiting for that to be Folx … why?

  Well, holy Chinese-food-inspired epiphany.

  She could just as easily ask the questions that pressed at her whenever she thought about him. Could they be something more than friends? Were they already? Would he be willing to find out? Did she want to?

  The microwave buzzed, shaking Lacy from her contemplation. It was certainly an idea to think further on. She didn’t have to conjure up the guts to go forward with it right at that moment.

  “Hey, it sounded like you were really on a roll in there,” Andy called from the other room. “Wanna play me anything?”

  Lacy was pulling out the carton with two fingers, getting burned, blowing on them, and repeating the process. The universal Dance of Nuking. Luckily, that gave her time to get a hold of her answer.

  “Nah, I need to step away for a little while, get fresh before I finish that one.” It was getting easier and easier to tell this particular lie. The one where she had been writing the whole time. The one where she wasn’t a pathetic hack.

  “No worries. I’m just curious to hear the new stuff.”

  She hadn’t even told Andy about the change in her studio schedule because she knew she’d press Lacy to play her album list. Then she’d have to confess.

  God, when had she become such a wimp? She’d always thought of herself as a strong person.

  That was it. She couldn’t live with herself if she was afraid of everything. Old Lacy would kick New Lacy’s ass over this stuff. Though she wasn’t ready to admit she was blocked in the songwriting department, she could at least get up the nerve to ask Folx about their relationship. Next time they talked, she promised herself, she’d be brave. She’d be bold.

  Lacy returned to the sofa and sat so her feet were on Andy’s lap.

  “Do you wanna hear the text Tim sent me at five in the morning today?”

  Lacy smiled at her sister. “Obviously. Five in the morning on a Sunday? Does he sleep?” At least her evasion had gone well. Better than usual. And with her decision made about Folx, she felt slightly less pathetic than she had a minute before.

  * * *

  Eli was cracking up.

  Tonight he’d agreed to give LoveCoda a rest on the songwriting help—he could practically hear the frustration through the instant messenger when she told him she’d watched the movie three more times with no success. Now they were doing what they did best—goofing off. She’d once told him that Pitch Perfect was her go-to Happy Place, but he hadn’t seen it. So now, instead of watching a movie and hoping to derive Meaning and Inspiration, they were watching and deriving pleasure.

  He probably shouldn’t be online at all. It was after midnight, and he had a bus to catch in the morning. Tour time, which should make him excited. And he was. He loved performing his material in front of a live audience. Just … the whole band experience was beginning to seem old. But he felt so protective of Jax. Responsible. He couldn’t think about leaving. Not now.

  So he was going on tour in the morning. He should be focusing on that instead of laughing at the ins and outs of a capella. Though, what else did he need to do to get ready? Minus the mandolin sitting at his feet, he was already packed. And he could sleep on the drive.

  He kept Pitch Perfect on.

  The current scene featured the characters at a party after they had been initiated into their singing groups. Something about it nagged that little spot in his mind where the words lived. There was a song there, he was sure. Something about that almost psychic connection with someone else, where even in a gigantic party, you are somehow always aware of where they are relative to you. Something about the way the ambient noise fades and all you can hear is the melody of their voice. Something about how he was suddenly positive that he’d know LoveCoda even in the biggest crowd. A memory of the Blue Hills’ last show sparked and flickered at the edge of his perception but faded as a tune flared up and eclipsed it.

  He grabbed his mandolin and started to pick out the notes that were now surging through him. LoveCoda was repeating—typeating?—her favorite lines from the movie now with long strings of ahahahaha’s. It was so cute to see her happy—a genuine happiness that transferred through the machines and wires and satellite dishes that separated them.

  He started jotting down lyrics.

  Wake up to the buzz of progress

  Another day, lightning striking

  Life happening, high-speed passing

  Everything around me

  Chaos

  In motion

  And then you …

  I hear you in the noise

  I hear you in the noise

  This disarray was unexpected

  Advancing, closing in around me

  But years I’ve waited for this take off

  Breath held and I’m

  Soaring

  In motion

  And then you …

  I hear you in the noise

  I hear you in the noise

  Then there’s stillness

  Silence

  Peace of mind

  I hear you in the noise

  And I remember

  What I’m fighting for

  I hear you in the noise

  He half paid attention to the movie and her responses to it for the duration of the time it took to write down his song. The first song he’d really written for her. Jesus. Eli had to admit it—this girl, this anonymous girl, was so much realer to him than anyone he’d met in person.

  He looked back up, finally, to see the main character surrounded by DVDs in her bed, Say Anything being the closest to her. Eli wasn’t normally a man of faith, but this had the “coincidence” of a Higher Power written all over it. Love was commenting on it as well in the browser. He set his instrument aside and wrote back.

  See, it really is one of the best music movies ever.

  He smiled to see the little line turn into dots, indicating she was writing back. The dots disappeared then reappeared a bunch of times. So that s
truck a chord. Figuratively. Or literally. Who could tell the difference these days between those words?

  Crybaby.

  Ah, another music movie. Point to Love. That one was amazing.

  Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.

  He gave himself a point. The Carrie Nations was his favorite fictional band. Plus that movie was so bizarre, every time he watched it he was startled all over again.

  Her next response came quickly. Spiceworld.

  What is wrong with you? He didn’t really mean it, but kind of he did.

  No one has answered that question yet.

  And he hoped no one ever would. This chick was into John Waters, Glen Hansard, and the Spice Girls? She was probably the biggest genius he’d never met.

  The Punk Singer.

  Her dotted line was absent for five minutes after that. Had he said the wrong thing? That documentary was the most glorious celebration of women in music he had ever seen. He assumed Love would feel the same? Maybe he should have typed Searching for Sugar Man, another brilliant doc, less edgy.

  This time when he picked up his mando, it was for comfort. Something had gone wrong somewhere in the conversation. Then the dots picked up again.

  You’re hot.

  He laughed out loud. So it was the right answer. You are.

  He thrilled a little bit. Or a lot. They were nearly flirting. It was … nice.

  Not for the first time, or fifteenth, he wondered what she looked like. There was an image in his head, but who could say if it was accurate? When he imagined LoveCoda, he pictured someone beautiful and capable. Tall-ish. Intense. Her eyes would be captivating. Beyond that, though, things got fuzzy. Blonde or brunette? Redhead, even? No idea.

  He hummed a few bars of the song he’d just written for her. Wow. Of all the songs he’d worked on in their partnership, this was the first one directly inspired by her. It was also one of his best.

  This was so stupid, this charade they were keeping up. He wanted to play her this song. His fingers hovered over the keys, trying to figure out how to ask her—what, exactly? He let his fingers drop. He didn’t even know what he wanted, except that she be involved in whatever it was.

  But then she was writing back: Folx? I know I’m not supposed to ask …

  His heart rate quickened. Could she really be so in tune with him that she was thinking the same thing? Go ahead …

  He hit return and tried not to be hopeful. She probably just wanted to find out the name of his band, or something like that.

  Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? It’s the twenty-first century, I shouldn’t assume.

  He felt like pumping his fist in the air, but, even though they were in different spaces, he was afraid the movement would shatter the fragile moment that he so wanted to cling to. So instead, he scooted his chair closer to his desk, zoning everything out but the screen and her words and his answer. I don’t have either. And if I did, it would be a girlfriend.

  He paused long enough to get the courage to ask the inevitable return question. How about you?

  Time stood still as he waited.

  Neither. And if I did, it would be a boyfriend.

  Eli let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and he grinned. Ear-to-ear grinned. That makes me happier than it probably should.

  Same here. Can we be totally honest? All cards on the table and all that?

  Yes. Hell, yes. He’d tell her anything. Confess anything. Commit to anything. Just as long as the conversation kept going in this direction.

  I think about you.

  Eli read that line again. Then once more before going on to the rest.

  I know, it’s crazy because I’ve never met you in real life. I don’t even know how old you are or if you’re interested in that kind of relationship with someone you met online.

  He’d never even thought about her age. What if she were fifty? Or worse, sixteen? Probably not, though, because no sixteen-year-old he knew was into the Spice Girls.

  Never mind that he didn’t know any sixteen-year-olds. It was just an educated guess.

  When it came down to it, though, he didn’t care how old she was. He didn’t even care what she looked like. Okay, he cared, but he didn’t think her looks mattered as much as they might have had he not already learned how kickass she was.

  He liked what he had with LoveCoda. He liked it enough to want more. He showed his cards. I’m thirty-one. And I’m interested.

  In case he hadn’t been clear enough he added, I’m interested in you.

  He imagined her breath catching. Even though he didn’t know her in real life, didn’t know her gestures or her mannerisms, he imagined her breath catching because that was the response he hoped she had. If he were not so intent on holding on to his manhood, his breath would have caught. Many times over at this point.

  So now what?

  He wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to hear her say it back—see her type it back. Well, first, I think, you should clarify if you feel the same. If you have the same interest.

  I do. Of course, I do. I’m the one who brought it up.

  Had she been the one? He’d forgotten already, feeling as though he’d been the one. It had been his intention. He just hadn’t figured out how to ask.

  Also, I’m twenty-six.

  You’re a baby. He was teasing. He had no problems with her age. Not one.

  Also, holy hell, he hoped the moderators weren’t watching this. He could live with being kicked off the forum—as long as he got LoveCoda’s info first—but he didn’t want a lawsuit on his hands. He’d just tossed all the rules out the window.

  Shut up. The dots of typing appeared and stopped. Appeared and stopped. Appeared again. She was trying to decide what to say next. Finally, she repeated her last question. So now what?

  Good question.

  He didn’t even know where she lived. She could be across the country. Outside the country, even. Honestly, it didn’t matter. He’d go wherever she was just to be able to meet her.

  Only, he couldn’t right now. He had the damn tour. Trying not to regret his obligations, he answered. We should meet. But I have commitments right now. And so do you—you have that album.

  If I met you in person, maybe I could find my inspiration. She added both a smiley face and a heart at the end of her sentence. It was all he could do not to kiss the screen.

  I wish. God, did he wish. But I’m booked. How about this—we set a date for the future. And we meet.

  Several seconds passed, and Eli wondered if he’d misread her. Or if the admins of the site had found them out and cut their communication. Maybe that was overly paranoid. But then why wasn’t she saying anything?

  Then she typed. And her response appeared. Like Sleepless in Seattle? Meet on New Year’s on top of the Empire State Building? But not on the Empire cuz I’m afraid of heights.

  Sleepless in Seattle. No band reference, but a great soundtrack. And I know about the heights. See? This wasn’t ridiculous. They’d already shared enough details for him to know these random things about her. And not New Year’s—that’s too far away. His tour lasted only two months, but he didn’t want to get in the way of her recording. When had she said that was happening? Ten weeks. He’d add a month to his own commitment to cover hers. Christmas Eve. Three months from now.

  I have a thing on Christmas Eve. There was a pause in her typing. But if you would want to come as my date.… It’s formal and would require a tux so I’d understand if that doesn’t work.

  I’ll rent a tux. A formal first date would give him extra points with her, and he wanted all the points he could get. Besides, it would be easier to get away from his mom and her sisters and their total holiday extravaganza if he had an official type of place to be.

  Cool. It’s a date. I’ll give you more details when we’re closer. In the meantime?

  In the meantime he’d keep holding onto her like he had been. How long had it been since he’d looked at another woman? How long since
he’d shared a meaningful glance? Except for the chick in the crowd at the show the other night, it had been a while. Because he already thought of himself as weirdly “with” LoveCoda.

  He couldn’t quite say, I think of you as my kind-of girlfriend. He didn’t want to scare her off, after all.

  He thought carefully before entering his response. We meet here online. Like we do. No commitment. Just friends with the promise of a possible more.

  Ha. A possible more. There’s a song in that …

  WRITE IT.

  So Love might be blocked, but she still saw music in her surroundings. Saw music in their relationship. As if she were meant for him, sight unseen.

  His screen was quiet for long moments. Eli began to wonder if Love really had gone off to spin a lyric. Or maybe she’d gone to the bathroom or to get a snack. Or the moderators had cut her account, which was unlikely since her icon was still lit up.

  Or, maybe things were going to be awkward between them now. God, please don’t let that be the case. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He poised his hands above the keys to say something—anything—to reestablish their natural repartee.

  But before he could think of something witty yet light, he saw the dots indicating she was typing.

  How did we not even include Spinal Tap? We have failed.

  And his worrying was over.

  Chapter Seven

  Lacy side-eyed the calendar as she signed off on her time card and didn’t know whether to frown or smile. Each day that passed was one day closer to Andy’s wedding, which meant one day closer to her date with Folx. Perhaps it had been an odd day to choose to meet him, but he’d chosen Christmas Eve first. When he’d said it—typed it—it felt right. She had a feeling she’d prefer having a date among all the Andy/Blake love, so why not with Folx?

  Of course she hadn’t explained to him that it was a wedding. She didn’t want the mods to see, for one, but also, she was afraid the word might sound scary. Weddings as dates were for serious relationships. Somehow, though, she didn’t think he would be scared by it so much as she was scared to say it. Anyway, he’d find out soon enough.

  But also, each day that passed was another day closer to her studio session. Another day without a song written. She had only nine weeks left to pull this record out of thin air. At what point should she admit it to Darrin so he could book the studio time with another, paying, customer?